


Count to three... (1 a.m. Fic #7)

by redtribution



Series: 1 a.m. Fic [7]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: 1 am fic, Angst, F/M, Keenler - Freeform, Lots of Angst, beware the angst fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtribution/pseuds/redtribution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run, a memory of Donald Ressler saves Liz from being captured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Liz knew she was running out of options quickly.

The thrill of sirens could be heard slicing the crisp night air with a vengeance. Liz held her phone to her ear as she raced down an alleyway, ducking into a shadowy back doorway for cover. She crossed her fingers as the line rang.

“Lizzie,” Reddington answered without preamble. “Where are you?”

Liz let out a breath. _Thank God._ “Behind the old antiques store we were in earlier today. Reddington, they’re closing in on me. I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”

“Lizzie, listen to me,” Reddington rumbled. “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. Stay hidden and I’ll be there as quickly as I can. I’m so sorry.”

Reddington was meant to have pick her up several blocks from the antiques store an hour ago. Though she knew he must have a good reason for the delay, the fact was that the kink in plans meant that the FBI as well as the city’s police force had had ample time to catch up with her. She trusted Reddington, but she also knew he wasn’t a miracle worker. This might be it.

Liz chose not to voice any of that. “It’s fine. See you soon.” She said, and hung up.

Liz pressed herself back into the doorway, hoping the shadows in the alley were long enough to conceal her. Part of her felt nervous simply being concealed in such a frightening place at all, but the alternative was exposure. In the distance, she heard the sirens fading, and allowed herself a breath. Perhaps Reddington’s distractions had worked.

Liz peeked out from the shadowy doorway as discreetly as possible. A lone yellow streetlamp lit the mouth of the alleyway, casting its penetrating rays over the cracked and graffitied concrete. The red brick of the surrounding buildings wasn’t in much better shape. As Liz watched, a silhouette appeared at the alley’s mouth, casting a dark shadow in her direction. Liz pulled back behind the doorframe quickly, heart racing.

From her standpoint, Liz could see the shadow’s head and shoulders. Her heart skipped several beats as it began to advance, taking slow, measured steps toward her. The shadow seemed to belong to a man, of reasonable stature and ample muscle, she noticed. The blocky head and neck atop broad shoulders had a familiar look to it, as did the practiced gait. It couldn’t be…

The shadow was close now. Too close. Liz held her breath, but she knew it was useless. In three steps, the man would see her, and all the running, the alibis, the fear of the last two months would have been for nothing.

Even as the distant sirens faded into silence, the voice that echoed through the alley shook Liz more than any sound she had heard that night.

“FBI,” came the quiet, shaking voice of Donald Ressler. “Freeze.”

Liz let out a shaky breath. Stepping around the corner, she held her hands in the air, and squarely met the eye of the man before her.

Though backlit, Donald Ressler’s face was clearly visible before her. He stood with his back to the building opposite her, meaning that half of his face was in shadow, the other lighted by the streetlamp at the mouth of the alley. He looked worse than she had ever seen him; worse than after Audrey, worse than post-pills. He was slightly unshaven, a peachy scruff speckling his already freckled face. The circles beneath his eyes, though normally slightly puffy were now deeper than she had ever seen them—or perhaps that was the lighting. His hair was longer, too. It looked as though he hadn’t gone in for a cut any time recently, and his fringe was beginning to flop over onto his forehead.

Ressler stepped toward her, teeth gritted. His voice was quiet, but firm. He looked determined, closed off. “Elizabeth Keen,” he said, five feet in front of her, weapon raised, “you’re under…” he stopped. He stared. As Liz met his eye, she realized he, too, was remembering…

 

It was the morning after Liz’s tussle with Tom, after which Liz had spent the night at Don’s place. He had graciously offered her his bed, but she’d declined, opting for the couch. After waking and dressing, the two of them drove to Liz and “Tom’s” home. As Ressler surveyed the wreckage their brawl had occasioned, Liz saw pity in his eyes. As she told him of her plans to capture and interrogate Tom, he listened with that look of quiet confidence she had come to so trust.

“And I’ll help you do just that,” Ressler promised as Liz explained her plan. “But right now, the only real way out of this thing is to go right through it.” Ressler paused, surveying Liz’s look of fear and uncertainty. “You ready?” He asked.

Liz opened her mouth to reply with a yes, but the word wouldn’t come. She knew where this road led, and though she was determined for answers and revenge, the winding path stretching out in front of her seemed too lengthy to traverse on her own.

“Hey,” Ressler said, stepping toward her. From the expression on his face, Liz though he must have guessed her feelings at that moment. “Let’s sit down for a second.” He took her by the elbow and led her to the stairs, as most of the furniture was either demolished or covered in wreckage. Together they sat, side by side on the stairs. Ressler leaned up against the banister, and Liz placed her elbows on her knees, hanging her head.

“Listen to me, Keen,” Ressler said. His voice was strong, as always. However, it was quieter than she’d ever heard him before. Ressler was a man who primarily spoke in strong tones, using force to get his points across. This quiet side of him was one Liz rarely got to see, but vastly preferred. “I know you’re messed up right now, and…that’s okay. Believe me, I know what heartbreak feels like,” he said. Liz chuckled quietly.

“But you’re gonna get through this. You know why?” He said. Liz raised her head to meet his eye. His expression was earnest, full of hope. “Because you’re Elizabeth Keen, and you’re strong as hell.”

Liz sighed, leaning against the wall beside her. “I don’t feel strong.” She said hollowly.

Silence stretched between them. “Alright then,” Ressler muttered. He reached over and grasped her right hand in his left sloppily. On his face was a look of deepest confidence. “I’ll give you another reason,” he intoned, tipping his head toward her. “You’re going to get through this because I’m going to help you.”

Liz saw the way the corners of his pink lips curled down slightly at the corners, determined, and knew he meant it. Seized by a sudden feeling of absolute safety, Liz threw caution to the wind. Liz slid her hand from his, and Ressler leaned away from her, seeming to think his offer of help was unwanted. How wrong he was.

Without pausing a second longer, Liz leaned into Don, grasped him by the knot of his tie, and kissed him.

Don stiffened, taken by surprise. He froze, refusing to melt beneath her touch. Liz slid a hand across his shoulder, grasping at the pad of his suit and pulling him toward herself. He allowed himself to be pulled, but he didn’t return her enthusiasm. A feeling of dread and rejection swooped through Liz’s stomach. She released Don, backing away slowly and letting out a shaky breath. With trembling lips, she opened her eyes.

She expected to see a look of surprise, even disgust on Ressler’s face. What she didn’t expect was the way he was looking at her now: full of sympathy, even… _pity._ Liz groaned.

“Oh no,” She said, her cheeks heating. She covered her face with her hands, leaning her elbows on her knees again. “Oh God, I’m so sorry Don.”

“Hey, hey, no,” Ressler said. Liz felt his arms slide around her shoulders.

“Don’t,” she moaned, attempting to shrug him off.

“Liz,” he said sternly, encircling her in his arms. “Listen to me. You’re not…you’re not thinking clearly right now. It’s not that I don’t want—” he broke off. Liz looked up, and this time it was Ressler’s cheeks that lit up with embarrassment.

“Look,” he said hastily, glossing over things unsaid. “It’s okay; it’s not your fault. I get it: you’re vulnerable. Hey, come here.” He said, as she tried to pull away. At last, Liz allowed herself to be bundled in his arms without resistance. She sighed as he held her, a tear leaking down her cheek.

“It’s a bad time for both of us, right?” She mumbled, her voice thick with emotion.

“Right,” Ressler said softly, leaning his head on Liz’s hair. Liz sighed.

“I wish I could take that back,” she said, tears sliding down her cheek and bleeding into Ressler’s suit.

They were quiet for a second.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Ressler said, squeezing Liz tightly. “Close your eyes and count to three. When you open them, we can pretend this never happened. Or—not pretend it never happened. We’ll just…shelve it away for later. Does that sound good?”

Liz nodded. “Yeah,” she said thickly.

“Alright. Close your eyes.”

Liz squeezed her eyes shut.

_One,_

She felt a slight pressure as Ressler tightened his embrace for a moment.

_Two,_

Ressler released her. She sat up.

_Three._

Liz opened her eyes. Ressler sat next to her still, but his expression was changed. He was the FBI Agent again.

“Alright, Keen,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

 

The screech of tires brought Liz sharply back to the present moment. Liz and Ressler both jumped, snapping to look toward the mouth of the alley. Reddington screeched to a halt there, leaning over to throw open the passenger side door of the large white van he was driving. Liz watched as Reddington took a split second to process the situation before leaping out of the van and walking slowly toward where Ressler and Liz stood, facing each other.

“Donald,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Ressler looked back at Liz. Confusion and anger creased his brow, making the lines of his face appear deeper in the dim light.

“You don’t _want_ to do this,” Reddington added.

Ressler took a sharp breath in through his nose. Liz’s heart was curiously calm. It was as though time were moving more slowly as she surveyed Ressler’s turmoil. The man in front of her was the same man from her memory, but vastly altered. She stared past the barrel of his gun, looking into his tormented eyes. Shakily, she found her voice.

“Close your eyes and count to three,” she said, holding his gaze. “When you open them, we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Ressler stared at her. She could see beads of sweat forming on the bridge of his nose, despite the chill night. His white teeth were gritted together. “Liz,” he choked out, tears forming in his eyes.

“Shh,” Liz took a step toward him, then another. He didn’t lower his gun, but he made no move to stop her. Calmly, she stopped in front of him and raised a hand, setting it to his cheek. Carefully, as though not to spook him, she brushed her thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

_“We’ll shelve it away for later.”_

They stared at each other, unblinkingly. A tear formed in Ressler’s eye, then cascaded down his cheek. It hung for a moment at his chin, and then fell to spot his white shirt. Gun still raised, teeth still bared, Ressler breathed a shaky breath, and closed his eyes.

Liz didn’t take another second to ponder. She released Ressler, running toward the mouth of the alley, and Reddington, as fast as her legs could carry her. Reddington appeared to have decided to drive now and ask questions later. At a nod from Liz, he darted around the front of the van, leapt into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Liz jumped in beside him, pulling the door shut as they squealed away into the night. In spite of herself, she turned in her seat, looking to catch a glimpse of Ressler before they disappeared into the night.

At the mouth of the alley, a suit-clad figure appeared in the pool of light cast by the streetlamp. He stood with rounded shoulders, his hands and weapon hanging uselessly at his sides. She watched as he swiped at his face, kicked the lamppost in frustration, and then looked back toward the van.

Reddington rounded a corner as Liz pressed a hand to the glass of her window. Just like that, Ressler disappeared from view. Liz leaned back in her seat and sniffed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reddington glance in her direction, but he remained quiet. It was enough to break her. Unable to contain herself any longer, Liz slumped forward in her seat, held her face in her hands, and cried.


	2. Come Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers! It's a short chapter because I'm tired. It was originally going to be longer but fuck that I'm a strong independent woman and I can do what I want. Sorry, that was aggressive.

Liz lay on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, her sleeping bag stretched out a few feet away from Reddington’s. It was early morning, she suspected. The light filtering through the glassless window in the wall in front of her was mildly blue, just a hint of something other than starlight. She lay on her side, her back to Reddington to conceal her face, though she had long since stopped crying. Nevertheless, sleep had mostly evaded her, and as the sky lighted up, she couldn’t wait for Reddington to wake so that they could get as far away from this city as possible. Perhaps once they left behind the site of Liz’s last Ressler sighting, she would be able to breathe normally again.

Head pounding with a slight headache courtesy of the hard warehouse floor, Liz rolled over in her sleeping bag to face Reddington, only to find that he had woken. He was studying her intently, a slight stubble texturing his chin, barely visible in the early morning darkness. Liz raised her eyebrows at him, indicating her confusion at his stare.

Reddington blinked, taking his time to respond. When he did, his voice was quiet, though they had no need to fear detection here. The warehouse was on the outskirts of the city, and as far as Liz knew, not even Reddington’s contact who had set them up with the sleeping bags and basic supplies knew where they were. However, Reddington’s voice barely carried through the chill air.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lizzie?” He asked.

Liz raised her eyebrows again. “What are you talking about?” She said, not bothering to keep her own voice down.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Donald?”

“What about him?”

Reddington licked his lips. His voice was rough from sleep. “Why didn’t you tell me you two had been…involved?”

Liz made a noise of annoyance, rolling over onto her back and setting a hand behind her head as a barrier between herself and the hard floor. “There’s nothing to tell.” She said, “And even if there were, it’s not any of your business.”

“You know that isn’t true, not now. If you have a history with the man tasked with hunting the two of us down, I need to know.”

“Really, Reddington? A _history?_ Ressler and I were only ever partners, end of story.” Liz wriggled out of her sleeping bag and sat up, shivering against the morning. She was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, her jeans and button-up now wrinkled from sleep. Running a hand through her hair, she discovered it was ratty and mildly greasy. She could use a shower, but it looked to be one of those days that she’d have to go without. Though Reddington was most often able to set the two of them up with lavish accommodations, nights like this—dirty, uncomfortable—still existed.

Reddington didn’t move in his sleeping bag, choosing to study her further. At last, he broke the silence.

“Today we’re leaving the country,” he threw out casually.

“What?” Liz said, whipping her head around to meet his eye so quickly that her already sore neck stung in protest. “I thought you said we had to stay for a while! You said the Cabal would expect us to flee, that staying was our most comfortable option.”

Reddington shook his head, his sleeping bag making wheezing noises as his stubble rubbed up against it. “Lizzie, last night you were chased—and found—by the FBI. I think it’s clear that staying is no longer safe. I’ll go pick us up some basic supplies and breakfast. At noon, we’re meeting a contact of mine at an abandoned hangar near here. We’ll be in Brussels late tonight/early tomorrow.” Reddington sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and moving his neck side to side to work out the kinks.

“We can’t,” Liz said, kneeling on her sleeping bag now in earnest. “You know as well as I do that Ressler kept our secret. If the states are the best place to fight the Cabal, we need to stay.”

Reddington looked at her, squinting in his discerning way. When he spoke, it was with slow trepidation.“I have a feeling this particular desire to stay at home has more to do with a certain clumsy FBI agent and less to do with the Cabal.”

Liz was shocked into silence. Reddington’s expression wasn’t mocking. On the contrary, he looked concerned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked when she located her voice.

“I think you know, Elizabeth.” Reddington stood, strode to Liz’s sleeping bag and knelt down in front of her, looking her straight in the eye. “Listen to me, Agent Keen. Donald is your friend, but he is not your ally. Even at his most deviant, at heart we both know he’s a cop. He may have let you go last night, but that will not continue to be his strategy. Having done so, he will be feeling guilty at this moment, and even more determined to find you. I would be very surprised if he hadn’t already informed his team of his slip-up last night, perhaps omitting the…intimate moment you two shared. As much as you may want to stay, I’m afraid fleeing is our only viable option.”

Liz looked away, attempting to conceal the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Her already raw nerves were feeling battered by the conversation.

Still staring at the wall, Liz responded, “Fine.” She could come up with no reason to refuse him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Reddington extend his hand toward her as if to grasp her shoulder, but seemed to think better of it at the last second. Standing up, he said, “I’ll be back soon.” Without a further word, he left Liz in the chill morning, kneeling on the hard concrete of her sleeping bag. Feeling weakened by Reddington’s speech, she allowed a few tears to track their course down her cheeks before wiping them away.

 

It was barely half an hour later when she heard the buzzing noise.

The buzzing vibration frightened Liz out of the stupor she had been in seconds previously. She sat up, convinced that she had been found out and the vibrating noise was an omen of her ill fortune, only to realize it was the sound of a vibrating cell phone. Stealing a cursory glance around her, Liz sat up from where she lay on her sleeping bag and crawled to Reddington’s sleeping bag; it sounded as though the vibrations were coming from somewhere inside.

Sure enough, when Liz unzipped the bag, there lay a disposable flip phone, the front screen lighted up with an unknown number. Liz picked it up, puzzled. She hadn’t been aware that Reddington was carrying a phone, let alone that the number was reachable. She hesitated for a moment before flipping it open, raising it to her ear with a trembling hand.

Silence. Liz dared not be the first to speak.

“Reddington?” The gruff voice of Donald Ressler crackled over the line. Liz sucked in a breath. “Reddington, is that you? Listen, I need to speak to Liz. It’s important.”

Liz knew she should hang up. Given what Reddington had guessed this morning, it was likely that Ressler couldn’t be trusted.

“It’s me…It’s Liz.” She whispered.

There was a pause.

“Liz. Uh, hey.”

Liz released a breath. “Why are you calling?” She asked, her tone businesslike.

“Yeah. I…God, Liz. I don’t know. Listen, we need to meet. Can we meet? I don’t care where.”

Liz paused. “Why would I do that?” She said. “You were very clear with me a month ago. I believe your words were ‘You’ll be hunted. By me.’” Even the memory of that phone call stung.

“I know, but Liz…it’s about last night. One time deal: I won’t bring any backup along with me. We need to talk, and it has to be face-to-face. I won’t…you know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Not going to happen.”

Don paused.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. I can trace this call to your location, and I can do it pretty quick, but you know that if I do that I have to involve the bureau. I have to talk to you, Liz. I don’t care how I do it.”

Liz swallowed.

“Give me your location. I’ll come to you,” Ressler said.

Liz laughed.

“Fat chance,” she said. However, she realized she had little choice. “Alright, fine,” she said. “I’ll meet you at that old sandwich shop, _Hogan’s Hoagies._ You get five minutes. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Ressler sighed with relief. The whoosh of air rattled in the phone. “Good,” he said. “And Keen?”

“Yeah?”

“Come alone.”


	3. Prove Me Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Ressler meet.

It was a little after seven in the morning when Liz arrived at the sandwich shop and the place was deserted. She had scrawled a hurried note to Reddington and left it on her sleeping bag before snagging a weapon and throwing her hair into a ponytail. She knew she looked a mess, and a part of her cared. Despite the fact that she knew there was nothing to do about her appearance, looking composed would give her the upper hand against the newly scruffy Ressler.

Liz took a cursory glance around her before ducking behind the sandwich shop. The alleyway between it and the Laundromat next to it was thin; too thin for a vehicle to pass through. It was part of the reason Liz had chosen this location: Ressler would have to walk in to meet her. Liz knew she was risking being trapped here, but she also knew that if Ressler broke his word and brought bureau resources with him, she would have little chance of escape no matter where she set their meeting.

Stomach growling, Liz rounded the corner behind the sandwich shop and found what she was looking for: a courtyard-like opening, accessible only through the alleyway that she had entered through and a similar one across from her. Bordered on all sides by buildings, Liz set her back to the brick work of the sandwich shop, weapon readied, finger next to the trigger.

Mere minutes later, Liz heard heavy footfalls in the alleyway next to her. It was a good sign. Agent Donald Ressler would never have walked with so little regard for noise. If Ressler was loud, it meant he was leaving his Agent persona behind.

Liz readied herself as Ressler came into view. She stepped out from the wall next to her and pointed her gun squarely at his chest.

Ressler was ready—expectant, even. He raised his hands in the air, his muscles relaxed. Liz surveyed his outfit: blue jeans, sneakers, and a gray hoodie to protect against the fading morning chill. His hair was doing that thing again; that thing where it flopped over his forehead and made him look as though he had just rolled out of bed. His expression was something in between pain and relief, and as little as she wanted to admit it, it tugged at Liz’s heartstrings.

“Turn around,” Liz ordered in a low tone. Ressler did as instructed, rotating on the spot as Liz did a visual check to ascertain that he hadn’t brought any weapons with him. As he turned to face her again, she lowered her gun, though she didn’t stow it away.

Ressler lowered his arms and let out a whoosh of air, his stubbly cheeks ballooning. “Liz,” he said, taking a step toward her. She flinched, and a fleeting look of anguish crossed his face.

“Liz,” he whispered. “It’s me, it’s Don. Look, I didn’t bring anyone or anything with me. It’s just me. Can’t we just…be us for a second?”

Liz surveyed the broken man before her. She saw the slump of his shoulders, the defeated look in his stance, and she couldn’t resist. She tucked away her weapon in the waistband of her jeans and started toward him.

He met her halfway, crushing her to his chest with a force that would have frightened her from any other man. She wrapped her arms around him, enveloping as much of him as she could hold, feeling the firm contours of his back. The embrace was hard and desperate, but there was sweetness to it.

The words slipped out of Liz before she could call them back. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

Ressler let out a relieved laugh, and Liz thought she felt the flutter of his lips on her forehead. “I miss you too, Keen.”

When at last they broke apart, Ressler kept a hand on Liz’s elbow as he led her to the wall of the sandwich shop. Together, they took a seat on the ground with their backs against it. For a moment, Liz allowed herself to pretend that this was just another case, that this sandwich shop backyard was just another hiding place, that this morning was just another morning spent with her partner, Agent Ressler.

The silence settled for a minute, and Ressler placed his hand over Liz’s, grasping it tightly. Neither of them acknowledged the gesture; they knew the danger involved in doing so.

At last, Ressler spoke. “It’s not the same without you,” he said.

Liz laughed. “Yeah, my personal life has changed lately, too.”

Ressler leaned his head against the wall, meeting Liz’s eye. “How are you...holding up?” He asked.

Liz pressed her lips together. “You know,” she said with feigned casualness, “pretty great. I think I’m really settling into the whole ‘life as a fugitive’ routine.”

Ressler didn’t miss the note of sadness in her voice. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sorry, Liz. I wish things had worked out differently.”

Liz bit her lip. “Yeah, me too.” She said quietly.

They sat in silence for another moment. Finally, Ressler broke it. He faced forward and said, “Come back,” in a low voice, not meeting her eye.

“Ressler…” Liz began.

Donald swallowed, and then turned to Liz, a fire in his eyes. “No Liz, listen,” he said, shifting against the wall until he was facing her directly. “I know you think there’s no way to clear your name, but I’ll help you. I know you trust me because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. Come back. I’ll clear your name.”

As he spoke, Liz’s heart broke for him. She could tell he believed every word. She shook her head. “You think that the law will protect me if I tell the truth, but it won’t. There’s a higher law than you’re aware of, and _that’s_ the law I’ll have to answer to if I come out of hiding.”

Ressler’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? What higher law?”

Liz examined his face. She saw the concerned lines etched in his forehead, the smooth skin of his cheekbones, his pink lips, slightly parted. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice. She could tell Ressler about the Cabal, and he would probably believe her. The thought of having an ally in him was the most comforting thought she’d had since she had shot Connolly. However, if the Cabal found out that Ressler knew of their existence…

Liz looked away from him, leaning back against the wall. “Never mind, it’s not important. Look, Ressler, I have to go. This has been fun.” She stood up to leave, and Ressler sprang to his feet beside her.

“Wait, Liz! Look, I can’t let you go. If you just come back and tell the truth—the real truth, all of it—maybe in a few years you can have a normal life again.”

Liz stopped. “What do you mean ‘if I tell the real truth’?” She asked, a cold feeling of dread beginning to weigh in the pit of her stomach.

Ressler’s hands were suspended, palms outward, at his sides. He looked as though he had been caught. His expression was fearful. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Look,” he said, wiping a hand across his brow. “I don’t know how your mother and the KGB fit into this, but I know _you_ Liz, and I know you care about this country. Whatever’s in your past, we can maybe fix it, but only if we can negotiate some sort of plea—”

Liz stepped back from Ressler, her fears confirmed. “What do you mean, ‘negotiate a plea,’ Ressler? I’ve told you, I’m being framed. I’m innocent.”

Ressler cocked his head to the side, a pitying expression on his face. “Liz…please. This is me. I think we’re beyond ‘I’m innocent’.”

It was as though Ressler had punched a hole in her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. Frustrated, she swiped at them as she pulled the gun from her waistband, pushing past Ressler into the alleyway. Unfortunately, Ressler had other intentions. He grabbed the wrist of her right hand, the hand holding the gun, and Liz reacted instinctively. She wrenched her wrist back and swung her left fist into his face as hard as she could, but it wasn’t enough. Her vision blurred by tears, she was unable to aim properly, resulting in the punch packing less power than she needed. In a moment, Ressler twisted her wrist and wrenched the gun from her grasp. In one smooth movement, he stepped back and pointed the gun at her chest, his whole body poised to strike. In that moment, he may as well have been wearing his suit and carrying his badge. He was Agent Ressler: fearless, law-abiding, righteous. Liz stumbled backward, and Ressler advanced a few steps, the gun still pointed at her chest.

“I can’t let you leave, Keen.” He said; his face a mask. “I have to do my job.”

Liz’s heart pounded furiously. Anger welled up, taking the place of hurt and fear. “What are you going to do, Agent Ressler? Shoot me?” She spat, advancing a step toward him, heedless of his finger near the trigger. “You’re either going to have to kill me or let me go, because I’m sure as hell not coming quietly.”

For a moment, his Federal Agent façade cracked, and uncertainty peeked through. “Don’t make me do this, Liz,” he said, his eye twitching. The words recalled their phone conversation a month ago.

It was then that Liz heard footsteps behind her. Whirling, she turned to see the composed face of Raymond Reddington. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, similar to Ressler. And, like Ressler, his hands were raised, the barrel of his gun directed toward the Federal Agent.

There was silence all around for a moment. The sky overhead had grown overcast during their conversation, and the diffused light cast a grayness over their surroundings. Reddington licked his lips, his composure an incredible contrast the messy situation before him.

“Agent Ressler, what a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his tone low despite the friendliness of the words. “I have to admit I didn’t expect to meet again so soon.”

“Can’t get rid of me, can you Reddington?” Ressler said, taking a step forward. He was close enough now that Liz could see the sweat beading at his temples, the way his facial muscles rippled as he clenched his teeth. Liz looked back at Reddington as Ressler began speaking again.

“Look, Red. Let’s just get this over with. We both know how this ends.” As Ressler spoke, Reddington nodded in Liz’s direction ever so slightly. Ressler, caught up in the heat of the moment, failed to catch the minute communication.

It was over in less than a second. Liz’s roundhouse kick to Ressler’s temple knocked him out immediately, sending him sprawling on the ground. It was a mark of his emotional distress that he was caught off guard by the act; Agent Donald Ressler of the FBI would never have missed such an obvious attack by an immediate threat. Liz dropped to his side, sparing only a moment to check his vital signs. Swiping her gun from where Ressler had dropped it at his side, she rose to her feet and met Reddington’s eye.

The man was surveying her with a stern look. “You left,” he said, his voice quiet, “to meet _him._ ” The pronoun came as a strangled whisper. “And left me with nothing but a note? Lizzie, I’m disappointed in you.”

Shame curled in Liz’s stomach, but she pushed the feeling down. “Let’s go,” she said, striding past him into the alleyway. “It’s a long flight to Brussels.”

…

As the plane lifted off, Liz shut her eyes and turned away from the window. A solitary tear escaped the confines of her lashes, tracking a glistening path down her cheek and catching at the corner of her mouth. A hand came to rest across her shoulders as Reddington pulled her toward him, enveloping her in a hug.

“I’m so sorry Lizzie. But…I warned you: Donald Ressler is a cop. It’s who he is, and what he always will be.”


End file.
